A Perfect Blood

something to happen, but nothing did. My wrist still hurt, my ankle still throbbed, and I still couldn’t take a deep breath. “It’s not working,” I said, my estimation of Trent’s abilities fading.
    In a quick, irate motion, he took the empty vial. “I haven’t invoked it yet. Ta na ruego, ” he said as our fingers touched.
    Starting, I shivered as I felt a filmy sheet of numbing gray slither over me, working from my aura in, muffling the pain and storing it up for later. Wild magic tingled along my muscles, and I took a deep, painless breath. “Dude. That’s good stuff. Thanks.”
    Trent cracked his neck, and I filed the motion away as him trying to hide his pleasure. The chatter from the earbud was getting intense. Inside, the man at the table was stirring his coffee, the sound of his spoon hitting the table a bare instant after he did it. My heart pounded as he turned halfway to the window, noticing us. His eyes almost black in the dim light, Trent adjusted his rearview mirror to see the Laundromat down the street. “Ready to go?”
    I gave my ankle a wiggle and took a cleansing breath. I was going to pay for this in spades later, but for now, I didn’t hurt. “Yes, thank you.”
    “I have another when we’re done if you want it. You’ve got an hour until it wears off.”
    An hour? Jeez, not much of a spell. “Thanks again,” I said, meaning it.
    Trent reached for the door handle, and from between us, that low, deep voice drawled in a smooth, even tone that rivaled Trent’s, “Blockades in place. Beater, approach at personal discretion. All units stand by for cleanup. This is going to be a messy one, people.”
    “Wait,” I said, reaching out to touch his knee, and Trent hesitated. “I don’t like the sound of this,” I said as I barely resisted the urge to flip the visor mirror down and look behind us. “They’re going to trash Mark’s place.”
    “Negative, that’s a negative,” a sharp voice with a New York accent said. “Black car in the parking lot. Two civilians. Ninety-eight percent confident that it’s the demon and the elf.”
    My pulse jumped, and I grabbed the battery pack to flip on the mic. “What are you doing?” Trent said.
    “These guys are good, and a joint venture might be the start of a beautiful friendship,” I said. “Besides, they’re here, and we could use the help.”
    Trent looked at the expensive toy in my hand, then nodded. Pleased, I brought the battery closer to my mouth. “Hey, hi, guys. Your plan sounds good and all, but there’s one problem. Eloy knows that’s your man in there pretending to be a jogger slamming down a six-hundred-calorie drink. He’s going to make a bloodbath of the place, and I can’t let that happen. I like Mark, and he’s too nice to get shot.”
    “Morgan!” the deep voice barked, then faintly, “Who counted the equipment?”
    “I did, Captain,” a faint voice said. “The discrepancy was noted.”
    “You failed to inform me that the radio was still active!” There was a slight hesitation, and then, very clearly, hitting every vowel hard, “Morgan, leave the watering hole.”
    I could resist no longer. I flipped the visor mirror down, but there was nothing behind us. “Its code name is Junior’s, captain of the-men-who-don’t-belong. Get it right.” Handing the battery pack to Trent, I pulled my bag onto my lap and started looking for a piece of paper. “I’ve been listening to your plans for the last fifteen minutes, and they suck. Eloy is going to shoot your men, if you’re lucky. He’s going to start throwing curses if you’re not. He’s got a vial of my blood, a demon textbook, and fewer morals than the most depraved demon I’ve ever partied with.” Receipt in hand, I shuffled around for a pen. Exasperated, I looked up. “You got a pen?”
    Disbelieving, Trent pulled a slim black-gold pen from the console and handed it to me, his fingers not shaking like mine were.
    “Thanks.” Clicking it open, I jotted a note. “You’ve been after him for months and failed to catch him. I propose we try together.”
    “Drive away, Morgan,” the captain said. “This is your last warning.”
    “Don’t get your jockstrap in a knot,” I said, grimacing when the tip of the pen broke through the paper I was using my leg to write on. “He kicked my ass a couple of times, too. He and Cordova are a potent team. Apart, neither of us is effective, but together?” Nervous, I clicked the pen closed.